Wizardry, Eyebrows, Voices and a Fair Amount of You-Know-Who
by PersonaNoir
Summary: Arthur M. Kirkland, a schizophrenic british Slytherin whose middle name is cursed is in his first year at Hogwarts, along with frenemy Francis Bonnefoy. Alfred F Jones is the popular transfer student from America, a Gryffindor with a curse who believes in parallel universes. When Arthur hears a voice telling him to kill Alfred, will he give in? Also, who's Harry Pottter? AU, USUK.
1. That Awkward First Introduction

_Hey guys! I wanted to thank everyone who's read Jones's Moving Castle, and those nice reviewers :D You guys are so nice, darn it. _

_My dad scared off a cat. That cat's kitten was left in one of the pots. We had to leave it to... to die... Because we can't take care of it, we don't have milk, its mother didn't come back for it... gods, I don't want it to die... Anyone who reads this, pray for the kitty. We had to leave it in a milk box outside the house. I WANTED TO KEEP IT ALIVE WHY IS LIFE SO SAD_

_noir_

* * *

_Wizardry, Eyebrows, Voices and a Fair Amount of You-Know-Who_

_Chapter One_

~_That Awkward First Introduction_~

* * *

Arthur M. Kirkland wasn't a normal boy, that much could be said.

He wasn't frighteningly different like a terrifyingly tall giant or a hideous monster but just, in a sense, different. That single person who stood out in a sea of faces in a cheering crowd of football enthusiasts. The boy that was just not the same as all the other boys in his class. His school, even. He was simply different. No one could scowl in the same way his face did, monstrous eyebrows scrunching up together in one huge bushy caterpillar. No expression could express so many words, so much intelligence and cunning in a single glance. At the same time, no one could quite match his wits, character, passion, determination and spirit. He just seemed to be superior, of a higher rank, even if his looks (well, eyebrows) did leave something to be desired. He still had emotions, mind you. He wasn't a monster, or even anything of the sort. He was still human, not overly evil or good. He was a shade of grey.

So really, it wasn't a surprise when Arthur got a letter to Hogwarts.

* * *

He found the letter on his mint green bed after coming back home from a small trip to the pharmacy in order to buy some medicine and a few bandages. His youngest brother, Peter, had come running back home with several cuts after accidentally "falling down" in the canteen, but Arthur knew that his classmates were apparently bullying Peter due to the twelve-year-old's height - after all, Peter was less than four foot seven - thus gathering animosity from his peers. But Peter was quite strong for his age, or as his parents had put it, "fists of steel", so the most he ever got was a few cuts or bruises and maybe the odd black eye. Arthur had just finished wrapping the bandages around Peter's right hand and had walked into his room, quietly so as to not alert his brothers to his arrival, and only noticed the rather suspicious letter sitting peacefully on the cotton duvet. It was, all in all, an ordinary little letter, save for the red seal with the sign of Hogwarts and the fact that it had mysteriously appeared in Arthur's room. It was made of wax along with a protection spell, and if anyone other than Arthur opened it they would have found themselves halfway down the stairs.

Arthur stood in his doorway, leaning his right shoulder against the frame while staring at the innocent crisp envelope with suspicious eyes. The eleven-year-old boy had been brought up by his older brothers ever since his parents had died on a trip to America, and his oldest brother, Scott, had told him to keep a lookout for strange things. Random letters with the seal of a supposedly nonexistent place certainly fit the bill. After all, Arthur didn't know any postman who broke into bedrooms just to deliver letters.

Arthur walked to the mattress cautiously, as if it might blow up or worse. When he finally reached the edge of the bed he could make out all the details on the red seal. Not really paying attention to that, he turned it over. On the other side, it said,

To Arthur M. Kirkland

Fourth Room to the Left

Second Floor

13 Squitchey Lane

Oxford, England.

Well, there was no mistaking it, then. It was addressed specifically to him, so there was no way that it belonged to any other inhabitant of 13 Squitchey Lane. It very obviously stated that it was for him and him only, if his full name was anything to go by. Most people forgot about that "M" of his anyway.

Arthur fingered one of his golden hoop earrings, the second one higher up his earlobe on his left ear. It was a habit whenever he stood still after so many years. He chuckled slightly, picking up the letter carefully as he remembered the first time Scott had persuaded him to drink when he was nine. "Hey Arthur! Come over 'ere and 'ave some of this dark purple liquid! It'll 'elp you... Uh, become smarter, I guess". He had gotten so wasted he had trudged out and gotten his left ear pierced twice and had woken up the next day with two new earrings and a hangover from hell.

Well, flasback cut. Arthur deftly opened the envelope with experience that only came with practice (Arthur preferred letters over e-mail) and held it upside down. The paper slowly slid out into his open palm, lighting down softly onto his skin. He unfolded it gently and started reading it without saying it aloud.

* * *

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Kirkland,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31. If you cannot reply for whatever reason you are to arrive at Platform 9 & 3/4 with this letter before eleven o'clock sharp. If the barrier seals before you manage to arrive seek assistance from the Leaky Pasta Pot.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

(The second piece of paper, which Arthur only noticed after reading the first page, was still in the envelope, so he pulled it out and continued to read.)

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

of WHICHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

sets of plain work robes (black)

plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags.

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Elizaveta Héderváry

A History of Magic by Legolas Beilschmidt

Magical Theory by Heracles Karpusi

A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Vladimir Popescu

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Kiku Honda

Magical Drafts and Potions by Julius Vargas

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Katyusha Braginskaya

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Vladimir Popescu

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

* * *

Arthur clutched the letter in one hand, lying down on his bed with a soft thump. He wasn't surprised at all, actually. His brothers had always told him that magic and Hogwarts did exist. It was more that he didn't know where to get all that stuff from. Patrick had told him of the magic academy, and of the mythical Platform 9 & 3/4, both of which Arthur believed in. He sighed, thinking back to Patrick's description of the place.

It had sounded like it belonged in a fairytale, a story that should have filled empty pages rather than come out of his elder brother's mouth. He turned over in bed, feeling slightly dizzy. He knew that it was one of the side-effects of his medicine, but after all these years he still hadn't gotten used to it. Staring up at the ceiling, he tried to imagine Hogwarts in his mind. Judging by Patrick's over-enthusiastic description of the school, a castle began to form in Arthur's mind. Several towers, possibly, with a large forest for the animals. Surrounding the academy would be lots and lots of water, and he presumed that the other students and he would be sailing there, in tiny little boats straight out of a children's dream. He smiled at the thought.

"Arthur! Get your sorry arse down here! It's Francis! Did you take your pills?" called his Welsh brother, Dylan.

"Send him away! I don't want to speak to him! Tell him that never is a good time to come back, too. And yes, I have!" Arthur groaned loudly, shouting the response back to Dylan.

"Arthur! He's blabbering nonsense about some letter! He says-"

Arthur's ears perked up at that. He tuned out of the now one-sided conversation and slowly crawled out of bed, slipping his feet into pastel blue slippers which he almost always forgot, so usually after coming back up after dinner he would find that the soles of his feet were grey and at the very worst, black. He walked to the door and turned the knob, strolling out of the room with pride at the fact that he had remembered the slippers.

After finding himself downstairs, Arthur headed over to his usual seat, ready to entertain Francis should it be another prank or so. He sat down, glaring at the uninvited guest. Francis only smiled in return (and Arthur swore that it was done lecherously because Francis was undeniably flirty at his young age). The French boy leaned back on the sofa, and whipped out a letter admittedly similar to the acceptance letter from Hogwarts, which was now sitting in Arthur's lap. It had the same red seal, and upon closer examination the word "Hogwarts" could be seen. Francis ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair and sighed.

"Angleterre, if I'm not mistaken, you are ze more 'I-believe-in-magic-and-unicorns-and-ze-fairies-oh-look-zey're-talking-to-you' type, and I want to know if you 'ave zis." He looked to Arthur for assurance. He wasn't disappointed when Arthur noticeably twitched when Francis stated his wish to know whether he possessed the letter. He had wanted to avoid the question, after all. Francis looked at him expectantly waiting for an answer. Arthur glared at him for a moment, then gave in and climbed the stairs to his room, clearly motioning to Francis to not follow him. He slipped inside the now darkened room and ginderly picked up the separate pieces of paper, stuffin them back into the envelope and trudged down the worn stairs.

Francis was holding one of Dylan's mugs and Arthur knew that it was warm milk. He looked considerably relaxed despite the fact that they had been invited to a supposedly mythical school that only existed in fairytales. He sat down again and chucked it at Francis. He managed to catch it deftly with his other hand and put the mug down carefully, pulling out the papers and reading them.

After a moment, he finally looked up at Arthur, who only stared back. Francis cleared his throat before saying, "So, Angleterre, are we going or not?"

"Yes." came the immediate reply. It was a chance of a lifetime, after all. How many children got to learn at a nonexistent academy of magic? Arthur was one of them now, and he was determined to not pass this up. He stood up, pulling Francis by the poor boy's scarf and dragged him to the kitchen where his brothers were.

"Scott, Patrick, Dylan and, I suppose just this once, Peter. We need to talk."

"So where are ye gonna get yer supplies, lad? Ye know that they aren't gonna sell cauldrons in the local grocery store."

"Yes, I know, but-"

"Angleterre-"

"Arthur, you're goin' ta need someone ta accompany ya-"

"Angleterre."

"No, Patrick, the boy's well off on 'is own-"

"Arthur!"

Arthur turned to look at Francis, who was in the doorway looking very irritated. The Frenchie always called him Angleterre or mon cher, so if he had called him Arthur for once, it was either the fact that someone had said he was fat or something was very, very wrong. Somehow in this situation Arthur was beginning to think that it was most likely the latter, considering the absurdity of the day so far. At least his brother had accepted it pretty well.

Arthur hurried over to the doorway, leaving his brothers bickering amongst themselves, and only then noticing what Francis had been referring to, for on the front steps of the house was a strange sight.

Two boys about their age were standing there, but their postures were so different that if you were to see them standing separately in the street without the other you wouldn't have thought that they would turn up at the house together in the first place. The boy standing to the left had crossed his arms over his chest rigidly, purposely not looking at the other. He wore glasses and had an absurd hairstyle, as if someone had remembered to slick the rest of his hair down except for one single strand that stubbornly refused to fall down. He had an air of nobility around him, his clothes only influencing that more, which made him almost the complete opposite of his partner.

The other boy had his hands stuffred in his pockets, a grey hoodie covering his black t-shirt that seemed a bit too large for him. He was an albino, which explained the hoodie, and he had almost scarlet eyes, and that wasn't a very common eye colour. His hair was messed up, and he slouched just a tiny bit but held his head high. He too was avoiding the other's gaze, and was obviously listenig to music through his headphones. The brunette began to speak.

"Are you Arthur M. Kirkland?" he asked. "We're here to help you with your supplies."

Arthur nodded slowly. The brunette smiled politely before promptly hitting his partner's arm. Hard.

"What the hell was that for, Specs?!" he yelped, pulling off his headphones. 'Specs' gave him a smirk in return, wiping it off his face as he tilted his head towards Arthur and Francis. The albino blinked in surprise.

"When did we get here, Roddy?" he glanced over at Arthur, who hadn't noticed that Francis had sneaked off to the kitchen to get more hot milk. "Don't tell me it's this guy! His eyebrows are huge, I bet that's why his name's cursed and all."

Arthur spluttered angrily, his fingers twitching. "I'll have you know that these eyebrows are a family trait!" he grabbed a hold of the door, ready to slam it in the face of the rude boy. Roddy - or whatever his name was - put up a hand in a way that asked for forgiveness.

"I'm sorry about Gilbert. He's always like this." he pulled Gilbert closer to the door before introducing himself as Arthur watched, fidgeting nervously at his earlier outburst. He wondered whether he should apologise when the brunette cut him off.

"I am Roderich Edelstein, and this is my-" he wrinkled his nose, "-acquaintance, Gilbert Beilschmidt. And yes, before you ask, I am Austrian and Gilbert here is Ger-"

"Prussian. Specs, I'm too awesome to just be German, remember?" he corrected Roderich before turning back to the now throughly amused Arthur. "We were sent by old man Albus so yeah, we're leaving now, because it's already the 31st of August, for Fritz's sake, what were they thinking when they sent the letter so late? Pack up when we get back, we're going now. Where's your french friend, anyway?"

"Francis! Stop depleting the milk supply! Tell Dylan we're going out!" yelled Arthur. The trio could then hear the musical voice of Arthur's Welsh brother and the french accent of Francis as he carried out Arthur's demands, finally turning up at the door. He put a hand on the brit's shoulder and it was slapped away as he grinned (lecherously) at Roderich and Gilbert.

"So, where to, boys?"

* * *

The unlikely group wandered the streets of London, frequently getting lost. Due to Roderich's poor sense of direction, the floo powder had transported them to a very angry swiss gun dealer's son's fireplace who so happened to keep an AK-47 under his pillow and had some sort of big brother complex. Fortunately, Roderich managed to convince him that no, they were not trying to kidnap his sister or pee on his lawn and they soon found themselves in the streets of London without a guide of any kind. Roderich was still taking them to who knows where when Gilbert suddenly stopped.

They were standing in front of a very odd pub. On the top of its entrance was a sign saying "Leaky Pasta Pot", and the door was thick and made out of oak wood. There were several locks on it as well. The wall around the doorframe looked worn out with age but was covered with rather cheerful tomato red paint. There was a chalkboard on the outside, stating that yes, it was a pub but if you were under eighteen you could have some pasta or wurst.

Gilbert started to climb the front steps, motioning to the others to follow. He knocked on the door twice, with three seconds of separation in between. The door swung open and they found themselves face to face with the most jolly old man they'd ever seen. You could tell he was old due to the laugh lines all over his face but he seemed to ooze youthfulness. It was simply in every pore of his being, it seemed. When he noticed the soon to be wizards, he grinned and exclaimed, "Gilbert! Roderich! Feli was looking for you, you know. Oh, and you must be Arthur and Francis. Good to finally meet you! My name is Julius Vargas, but you can just call me Jules."

Arthur shook the offered hand awkwardly, the other hand fidgeting all the while. He wasn't one to socialise - in fact, he loved isolation. He craved it, more like. He felt increasingly nervous, wondering when to take his hand back. Fortunately Julius took his own hand back and gestured to his back. "Come on in, then!"

Arthur followed the other boys in, trying to calm down. It didn't help that there were so many people inside the pub, shouting and yelling and just adding to the already deafening noise. He winced at all of it.

There were several people loitering around, and not many were surprised at the arrival of the boys. There were people from all over, ranging from Norwegian to Italian to Australian, all of them joining as one under a creaky old roof, most of them the same age as Arthur. The four young wizards watched, amused as Julius tried to persuade a boy sitting at the corner of the counter to come over (which earned him derision and annoyance and finally, success). The stoic boy was so stiff he basically marched over, coming to stand in front of the small group, hands crossed over his chest and his expression completely devoid of any emotion.

Arthur looked him over. He was around eleven or twelve, he decided, of Scandinavian heritage, and he wore a sort of violet sailor cap, and matching sailor's clothes just to top it off. His pale blonde hair was clipped on the left with a golden cross and was so long in front on his right that it almost covered his bright blue eyes that seemed to express everything that his thin and slightly small body couldn't.

"Arthur, Francis, this is Lukas. Lukas, this is Arthur and this is Francis." Julius smiled. "Lukas shall be guiding you around Diagon Alley. I know you brought your letters!"

"And zat's vere ve shall be getting our supplies, I presume?" asked Francis. Julius nodded, beaming all the way. Lukas looked considerably irritated at somehow being forced into some sort of job when he could have simply lounged around the pub, and Arthur couldn't blame him.

Arthur could only think, 'You can't start a sentence with "and", stupid Francis.' as they were led to the back of the shop. Julius had left, saying something about his supposedly cute italian grandson and his perpetually angry brother and some spaniard, skipping (yes, skipping) to the kitchen.

Arthur almost jumped in surprise when Lukas spoke. His voice was strangely deep for his appearance, and was seemingly filled with knowledge and... wisdom, the type that comes from your elders and grandparents when sitting near the fireplace. Lukas said, mysteriously monotonously, "We're here." They found themselves in front of a very old door which seemed to be on the edge of splintering which was promptly unlocked by the Norwegian boy with a key fished out from a pocket in his pants. He took the lamp from the door, which was lighted with an electric blue flame as soon as he touched the handle and pushed the door open roughly. The others followed him quietly, their footsteps not making a sound as they entered the dark.

Arthur found himself in darkness, which extended beyond his sight. It was underneath him, it was above him, it was on all sides... It was actually a bit like walking in space. The only thing that he could see other than black was the hopeful blue light of the lantern, bobbing up and down. He supposed that he should follow it, so he did, surprisingly not bumping into anybody else on the way.

It felt like ages when they suddenly Arthur found himself in daylight, burning his unaccustomed eyes as they watered after all the bleak darkness. He blinked several times before finally seeing the spectacle before him. Lukas stood in front of them, and seeing that everybody had managed to make it out fine, gestured behind him and announced as monotonously as before, "Welcome to Diagon Alley."

Right behind him was a bank, and standing to the right of its entrance was a girl smiling sweetly, who looked suspiciously like the swiss boy who had threatened to blow their brains out earlier. Lukas suddenly shifted into a brisk trot, turning towards the bank, lamp still in hand. Arthur noticed that Roderich seemed a bit hesitant, as if he feared what was contained inside the building, but that quickly disappeared when Gilbert grabbed his arm and started to drag him to the entrance, with the soon-to-be aristocrat protesting all the while. Francis was gazing back at them, the smallest of smiles at his lips.

* * *

"When did you get so close to Beilschmidt, anyway?" Arthur asked as they paused before the grand doors of the bank, honestly curious for once without a touch of sarcasm. Francis smirked.

"Back in ze dark space portal area, mon cher. Ve discussed some matters concerning 'ogwarts." Francis replied. Arthur was sure that Hogwarts wasn't the only thing they were discussing. "Did you know zat Lukas is in Ravenclaw? Seems ze boy is cleverer zan he seems." With that, Francis simply stepped into the bank. Arthur followed him stiffly, not as relaxed as the frenchie.

The bank was somehow smaller on the outside, and it was much larger inside - sort of like that time-travelling police phone booth - and it was full of marble and pillars and short people around Peter's height. It had a domed roof, and painted on it were thirteen astrological constellations, the extra one being a sort of snake. Ophiuchus, Arthur remembered as they made their way to one of the counters. The counter was more like a tall podium of sorts.

Now imagine the group's horror when angry swiss gun toting kid steps up behind the counter.

The kid swiftly pulled a gun from his back and pointed it accusingly at Roderich. The austrian quickly put both his hands up in mock surrender, the corners of his mouth lowering even more. Arthur backed away, body twitching with fear.

"Tell me why you're here, and if it's worthwhile, I may not shoot you." The boy growled. Someone's was a bit touchy today.

"Now, Basch, I need to get some money for Arthur here - he's a Kirkland...? Oh, and the Bonnefoy, too." Roderich tried to explain. Basch grunted, but kept the gun at Roderich's eye level. "Lili is fine. She's outside." The gun was taken away and magically returned to Basch's back. He stepped down from the podium/counter and walked to the front of the group, carrying two keys, one with an S on top and another with a B, both gold and shiny, not a hint of rust on either.

Arthur tilted his head to the side for a moment, trying to look closer at the keys. "Basch," he murmured, lost in thought. "Why does mine have an S on it instead of a K, for Kirkland?"

"Actually, I second that question," Gilbert pressed. Basch glared at Gilbert before turning to Arthur, passing him the key which Arthur held carefully.

'Kirkland here's a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin." Basch answered.

"Are you going to come or not?"

* * *

_*Cries* Now my parents are fighting about the cat :( My dad had to throw it over the fence because of some bastard of a woman who thought that a KITTEN could get food and didn't want it in front of the house because she didn't want the smell from when it... died. DARN THE MOTHER FOR LEAVING IT THERE AND DARN LA BASTARDO WOMAN I wish she'd become the cat so that it wouldn't have to suffer and she'd know how it felt *angrily rants on inside of head*_

_noir_


	2. Secrets

_WHAT ARE YOU PEOPLE DOING. SO MANY NICE PEOPLE. I DON'T DESERVE THIS. So, guys, sorry for the long wait ;( I've been adjusting to school and all, so here's a suckish chapter. :D_

_noir  
_

* * *

_Wizardry, Eyebrows, Voices and a Fair Amount of You-Know-Who_

_Chapter Two__  
_

_~Secrets~_

* * *

As they began walking away from the counter as they followed Basch, Gilbert began to exclaim in disbelief, saying something about Arthur not being awesome enough ("If Big-Brows over there is awesome enough to be old man Salzie's descendent, I should be the seventh son of Dumbledore and Merlin-") while Roderich began to shout about that not being possible, seeing that they were born more than two centuries apart, and Arthur just smiled, realising the fact that no matter what they did, they would be the same Roderich and Gilbert, fighting no matter what kind of relationship they were in - friends, enemies, or even if one of them died. Arthur snickered to himself as he thought of Roderich as an old man muttering angrily at Gilbert to stop dilly-dallying six feet under, and to get him a new piano because he'd probably break one or two of the keys before kicking the bucket ("Gilbert Beilschmidt, I don't care if you're six or hopefully a billion feet under, you are going to get me a new piano, be it through your will or stealing your children's inheritance-"), for once not dreadfully nervous at all. He actually was at peace with these- these strangers, and he felt as familiar with each and every one of them as he was with Francis, even the stoic norwegian Ravenclaw, Lukas. Well, every one of them, except for... Basch Zwingli.

The Swiss boy unnerved Arthur. He was extremely violent, if the guns that appeared every now and then in his hands said anything. And Arthur didn't like violence as much as other boys his age, and he was still getting over the fact that Basch had a peculiar obsession with his sister, Lili. In fact, as they made their way to who knows where whenever the gun fanatic wasn't pointing insults at Roderich and sometimes at Gilbert he was talking about Lili. Arthur continued to find this even creepier once he started telling them about every single one of his sister's achievements, from the first word that came out of her tiny mouth to the recent international flower-arranging competition, in which she won second place, with a vietnamese girl supposedly stealing first place from her (Francis agreeing - who could not let dear, sweet and beautiful Lili win?)

With every word that came from Basch, Arthur started to tune out of the conversation and look around them. They were on a sort of platform, which was beginning to rise up from the ground. Arthur didn't remember stopping, much less the way they arrived. The platform they were standing on was a dark red, sort of maroon or brown. Arthur noted that it was beginning to rust on the corners, and that railings prevented any of them from falling on all sides. The platform was in a huge cavern, with rough walls that looked to be made of rock or limestone, and our protagonist didn't feel like looking down so instead he sat down against one of the railings, crossing his legs meditation style and observing the others. The single lamp hanging from the ceiling cast long shadows on the rusty red metal. Basch seemed to still be obsessing over Lili, and Gilbert was poking Roderich in the side while the aristocratic Austrian was attempting to listen to Basch but obviously failing due to the albino boy. Arthur didn't attempt to join in the conversation, seeing as they were still fighting/talking about sisters/poking, so he observed. It was so much easier to observe rather than to socialize, he mused-

"Arthur."

Arthur almost jumped off the platform in shock. He craned his neck upwards to see dull blue eyes staring back at him. Those almost doll-like eyes led to a pale face, which was half covered by blonde hair and topped by a sailor's cap. It was Lukas, the Norwegian boy who had led them to Diagon Alley in the first place. Arthur had to remind himself that, as Lukas was so quiet and monotonous and just plain stiff that it was easy to forget that he was there.

"You are too shy to talk to them, ja?" Arthur was dragged out of his thoughts when those quiet words slipped out of the stoic scandinavian. If Arthur hadn't known that Lukas almost seemed to have no soul, he would have thought that those words were laced with a sort of understanding, and... sadness. He turned his head to look at Lukas after hearing a soft thunk to find the strange boy sitting next to him, looking straight ahead. His hands were around his long slim legs which were firmly pulled up to his chest. He just seemed... empty, to say the least. Arthur began to wonder about who the scandinavian boy had, and whether they actually treated him right-

"It's hard to open up to open up to people." the boy declared, softly, as if he didn't really care about the peculiarity of his statement.

Arthur blinked. _Now why would the norwegian say that? _Well, of course the statement was true in every aspect. Arthur himself was an isolationist, and didn't care much for company of any kind. Unless they understood why he wanted to be alone. Then he was fine with them, even if it was them who stayed away from him the most.

Lukas took one glance at Arthur's questioning expression before continuing, facing his knees. "I'm telling you this because you know how it feels."

Arthur stared at him. No, he couldn't have. Could he...?

"You're scizophrenic," the Ravenclaw mumbled, stealing yet another glance at the shocked brit. One look at Arthur's face told him he was obviously right. "You tend to fidget, because of the medicine you take, and your eyes were moving frequently, as if looking for something, most likely another hallucination. Correct?"

"I... I..." He looked down at his feet. Arthur's mind began to panic. 'What if he stops me from going to Hogwarts? Is it too dangerous to be a schizophrenic wizard? What if he runs away...?' The brit was starting to contemplate the wonderful idea of running away from whatever the honest to a fault boy but something made him stay. Something whispered to him, would be more accurate.

"Do not fear Master Lukas," the deep voice muttered into Arthur's left ear. "He doesn't mean to scare you. He's actually more nervous than you are right now. Nobody likes to be confronted with their own faults."

And as soon as it came, it was gone. Arthur shivered, but he knew it couldn't have been another effect of his schizophrenia. _He'd taken his medicine, right? Wait, it's in the house, oh god no why didn't he take it with him-_

Lukas coughed. The polite kind, just to snap Arthur out of his momentary panic, not the sick kind. The briton was suddenly back in reality and quickly snapped his head back in the other boy's direction.

"That was my troll." he said under his breath so Arthur only heard several words like "troll" and "that". Lukas sensed his mistake and explained, louder this time. "He's a troll. He's... my pet."

_You can have trolls as pets? _Arthur shuddered at the thought. He would have gone for a flying, possibly mint-coloured bunny. But he wasn't Lukas, so now he was stuck with the peculiar norwegian and his equally strange pet/servant. But he didn't have to respond, as Lukas started to speak again.

"You know, for me, it's like looking out at the world without knowing how to respond, in actions and words. My parents used to tell me what great expectations they had for me, then they were disappointed at my work. I never wanted to become an enviromentalist. My younger brother, Emil, he's always been perfect, and he's everything my parents wanted, even though he was obviously the result of an affair between my mother and her icelandic butler. I was their real child and my father didn't care. He only saw Emil. But I love Emil, I really do, and we meet up sometimes. He's a muggle, after all. I'm a half blood." Lukas's face didn't change through the whole explanation, and it was unsettling to Arthur. "It's like everybody's watching me. Judging me. They see my every move. And I can't cope with what they ask me.

They tell me about their accomplishments and ask me about mine. And I can't tell them, because I haven't a single one. And I don't have a disorder, so sometimes emotion does slip through. It's just an instinctual method of protection. But," Lukas's lips were forming a small smile, so small that no one, not even Arthur could see it. . "There's somebody who understands me and likes me for who I am, and I know you'll find someone like Matthias."

He stood up quietly, the dust on the platform slowly covering up where the norwegian once sat, as if he was never there. "You needed a pep talk and I needed someone to tell all this to. Just in case something happens to me because Matthias isn't here."

As Arthur watched the peculiar blonde walk away, he realised that the number of words that the norwegian had spoken was overwhelming, and that everything the boy had said was true - he was in need of a pep talk (who wouldn't need one after getting a gun pointed at you and suddenly being whisked off on some journey to a magical academy) and that they were both strangely similar. The Brit, with the hallucinations and delusions and the Norwegian, with his peculiar habit triggered by instinct. He faintly wondered what he might have become if his parents had been alive and had treated him like Lukas's parents had treated their own son. He shivered at the thought. Lukas was brave to have endured that, to come out without truly breaking down, to not be depressed at all. He still loved Emil, and Arthur knew that he would have despised his brothers if they were the only ones that his parents loved. He remembered that when Mr Kirkland and his wife, Alice Kirkland, had drowned when their ship sank, he had been two at the time, so maybe they had favoured his brothers over him. He would never know, but Lukas, emotionless, brave Lukas, knew it all, and his parents never bothered to hide it. He actually felt happy that he had a friend like the norwegian, one who might be able to help him solve his own. Little did our dear main character realise that they would become great friends later on in this story - but that's later, not now, so we shall continue on to the vault.

* * *

The platform came to a halt, the dust blown off the rusty metal with the force of it. Arthur tried to hold back a sneeze, rubbing his nose with his sleeve as he made his way to the stone bridge that was now connected to the platform. Francis (who had been quietly watching Arthur and Lukas the whole timw while thinking that Roderich and Gilbert really needed to solve all the sexual tension around them) sauntered up to him, holding back a laugh as he slapped Arthur on the back loudly. Poor unsuspecting Arthur jumped, turned around and promptly punched Francis's cheek. The frenchman yelped and held his right hand to the now sore cheek, with an overly pathetic expression on his face.

"Arthur, mon cher, how could you vant to devastate my beautiful face? I understand zat you are probably jealous, but to ze point of hitting moi-" Francis held back a gasp of fear when Arthur glared at him. And Arthur was scary when he did that, what with the eyebrows and all. They enhanced the effectiveness of his death glares and when he wanted to look really terrifying by seventy percent.

"Hurry up. We need to get into the cart." Lukas deadpanned. He turned to stare at Francis and Arthur, making them both feel strangely uncomfortable before, seemingly satisfied, turnin back and continuing on. The duo followed him into a sort of tunnel, made out of the same rock as the cavern which the platform had been installed in, and several torches lined the walls. Arthur heard Basch kick a small pebble up ahead as the swiss boy swore under his breath.

Basch grumbled, "Darn it, Lili might've been kidnapped or worse and I'm stuck with you-" he sent a pointed glare at Roderich, "you, yes you, you loud obnoxious delusional german-" Gilbert made a sort of choked sound at this, "a norwegian with no soul-" Arthur felt bad for Lukas, who had his stoic mask on. He didn't deserve those insults. "a frenchman who is as delusional as the german about his beauty, which, by the way, is not there, and a brit who should really get his eyebrows shaved - they're going to merge into a unibrow." Francis only smiled lewdly while Arthur spluttered in indignation. He didn't have the right to say that, did he- ...now.

Well. The... the cart. That was not a relief at all. Arthur was sure that it would break down in the first quarter of their journey, what with the state it was in.

Rusted metal formed its body, and spread everywhere else. On the inside small, thin bars served as seats, and Arthur knew that he was going to have a sore bum after sitting on that. The only things attached directly to the cart that seemed somewhat safe were its wheels, which were unfortunately also in terrible shape, but not as bad as the vessel itself.

The whole group, except for Basch, grew pale at the sight of the cart. It looked like it should've been in a scrapyard or something. It was so bad that even Lukas let his mask slip for a while to show a sort of panicked expression.

"That... How... Ride?" Arthur failed to form coherent sentences. Basch merely snorted as he stepped swiftly into the cart while everybody else winced at the creak that was heard when he did.

Basch almost shouted. "Get in! I can't wait for you idiots all day! The cart's been enchanted anyway, since the 1800s-" Everybody flinched. "on the brink of falling apart-" Arthur was fidgeting again, Lukas was staring blankly at Basch, Francis was clutching his hair rather nervously, Roderich was wiping his glasses over and over again while Gilbert was muttering something about being too awesome and birds, "...so get in. It's been magicked anyway!"

Nobody was convinced.

They got in anyway, none of them wishing to anger the already short tempered swiss boy, yet at the same time all of them were sure that the cart would break down halfway. Arthur trembled as he settled down on one of the bars (he figured he'd call it that - it couldn't be considered a seat), hoping that it'd at least be over quick. He wanted a quick, clean death, not the painful one that he would most likely get if he stayed on the cart any longer. That's actually a good idea, he realised. I should just get off and run back home! Of course, the brit didn't have any floo powder so the chances of that happening was unlikely, but whatever, he was getting off and he was getting off now-

Drat. Arthur cursed as the cart began to move.

Darn his life.

* * *

As soon as the cart stopped everybody quickly jumped off, Arthur feeling like he wanted to puke and Francis actually puking. Basch glared at the orange stain on the floor as if doing so would make it go away, muttering darkly that he wouldn't go near the thing. Everybody agreed with him for once. Lukas was the first to recover, standing up straight and gesturing to the area in front of them.

"This is-" Lukas began, but Basch cut in. "Frenchie's vault. Get in, I'll go with you along with Gilbert. Agreed?"

Gilbert's smile faded when Basch stated his plan to accompany Francis, but it returned ten fold when the swiss boy said his name. Francis grinned and high fived Gilbert, missing at first but managing it somewhat the second time. Basch turned to Lukas, who honestly looked like a deer in the headlights in the gaze of the short fused blonde.

Basch grunted. "And you, norwegian, you are going with the austrian and eyebrows. Got it?" The aforementioned trio nodded hastily as Basch passed the key to Arthur's vault to Lukas. They watched as the others walked away, Francis and Gilbert chatting away like long lost friends, Basch stomping ahead the whole time. After Basch's mini brawl with the door, they stepped inside, the door swinging shut behind them.

The last three stood there, an awkward silence so tense you'd have to cut it with a knife filling the space where the Bonnefoy Group once were. Arthur surprisingly broke the silence first by stepping towards the vault next to the one Francis had entered.

"It's this one, right?" he said, running his hands over the door. It was made of wood, dark brown and old, yet not rotten. Several silver bars crossed it to the other side, leaving Arthur to wonder where the lock was. A single gold "s" was hanging right ont top of the strange entrance.

Roderich nodded. "It is. We shouldn't waste anymore time, though. Lukas?"

Lukas pulled the small key out of his pocket and placed it in the middle of Arthur's palm. He grabbed the hand and put his right hand on top of the key, his left hand cupping the bottom. He opened his mouth as Arthur waited, confused due to Lukas's actions.

"_Åpent._" Lukas whispered. The key slipped out from under Lukas's hand and flew - yes, flew - towards the golden metal S on the wall. It merged with the S, sliding deeper and deeper into the cold surface until it was no more. The vault swang open with a clang, dust blowing out from the edge of the entrance. Arthur rubbed his eyes as tears threatened to fall. What was with the amount of dust in this place?

Roderich coughed, covering his mouth with one of his hands before grabbing his glasses and wiping them frustratedly. He put them back on with a sigh and stepped into the vault. He spun on his heel, turning towards Arthur and Lukas, gesturing for them to come in. Lukas complied, Arthur following soon after. What he saw almost made him faint with amazement.

The room was filled from a few feet away from the door Reaching the ceiling, next to the walls, were golden coins, all the same shape, size, colour, and design. The whole room was positively blinding.

Arthur put his hands over his eyes, attempting to shield himself from the light. Roderich simply nodded, looking impressed, before pulling a small black card, with silver curls and a single white spade in the center out of thin air. He passed it to Lukas, who muttered something under his breath. Lukas took it from him carefully, mumbling another word in norwegian which Arthur couldn't hear. But that wasn't important at that moment. It was the fact that all the gold was gone.

Arthur glanced sideways at Lukas, who had actually twisted his face in a small smirk. The peculiar scandinavian faced Arthur and mouthed a single, powerful word.

_Magic._

* * *

As they walked out of yet another shop, Arthur decided to look over his purchases. So far, they'd bought paper, ink, three sets of plain black work robes, one plain black pointed hat for day wear, a pair of protective gloves made from dragon hide, a winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings), a scarf that could change colour, several other clothes, all required text books, a cauldron, a pair of eyebrow scissors (in case), a cauldron (pewter, standard size 2), a set of crystal phials, a telescope and a set of brass scales. He found out that the black and white card was a sort of credit card, and loved to stare at the beautiful white spade in its center. Everything was packed up neatly together in a quiant little cart.

Somewhere along the way Basch had left, leaving for work back at the bank, and Lukas had to buy something for some dane, so the briton was left with Francis, Gilbert and Roderich. The austrian had fussed over almost everything, saying that it didn't need to be of the best quality, but Gilbert had intervened by dragging Roderich outside. They had just walked back into the sunlight after buying a cauldron.

Arthur rubbed his hands. Francis had somehow already finished his shopping, so he merely tagged along like a lost puppy. The brit asked Roderich, "What's next? The wand and the bird or toad or something, right?" The austrian nodded in response.

Arthur sighed in relief. Only two things left to get. Well, that was all fine, but... Roderich just had to gesture to one of the many shops in Diagon Alley, and say, "You have to go by yourself." Oh, Arthur was definitely going to murder the austrian once he got that wand of his. _Definitely._

Arthur pushed his way through the crowds of people. There were several groups scattered here and there, but not so many that Arthur had to squeeze his way through. His feet hit the cold cobblestone floor as he came to a stop in front of the shop Roderich had pointed out to him earlier.

Its entrance was in the center, between two panels of glass surrounded by wood which stood out, the door seemingly sinking back. Through the windows were several cases, all of them open and displaying a certain wand of sorts. Several wands were placed randomly around the cases. Behind the translucent door was a sign with the word, "_Open_".

Arthur took the handle and turned it slowly, entering the shop.

_What he didn't know couldn't hurt him._

* * *

_OH THE DISAPPOINTMENT AT MY FAILURE. Alfred will be in the next chapter, I promise. Which will be out faster. I hope.  
_

_200 over views asdfghjklasdfghjklasdfghjkla sdfghjklqwertyuiopzxcvbnm  
_

_noir  
_


	3. The Distance Between You and Me

_Guuuuuys I'm so sorry I haven't updated since forever. I had several... difficulties, what with my parents banning me from hetalia for forever and having writer's block. I know my grammar fails. I'm a Malaysian, and I'm pretty young so don't go hard on me. Also, this chapter is pretty short because I wanted it to end there. That's why there'll be inconsistency with the number of words in a chapter. Hope I don't disappoint!_

_noir_

* * *

_Wizardry, Eyebrows, Voices and a Fair Amount of You-Know-Who_

_Chapter Three_

_~The Distance Between Us~_

* * *

Arthur stepped into the shop, his legs trembling slightly. He didn't really know what to expect, so it surprised him when he tripped over the small step in the entrance to the place. He fell face-first, and hit his nose hard on the floor. Even if it hurt quite a bit, he recovered quickly, and eventually managed to actually get inside the shop without further incident. Once inside he felt some sort of liquid upon his upper lip and instinctively put a hand to his nose. When he withdrew it his fingers were slightly sticky and red with his blood. He almost panicked but kept his cool, and covered his nose with the same hand before looking around the shop.

The shop was small, and almost everything was made of wood. It was cozy that way, and the dim lighting made it all the better. There were dozens of books in their shelves near the back, and behind that was a huge staircase. The floor in front of Arthur was rather cluttered, full of strange papers of some sort. Arthur didn't want to intrude so he didn't look at any of them. There was a mahogany desk in front of him, and upon it was a lamp, providing the only lighting in the room. He walked closer to the desk and tried to find a bell of any sort. He finally located one behind the old-looking lamp, the sort of bell you found upon a hotel clerk's desk. It was so shiny that Arthur found that he could see his reflection perfectly. It seemed that his nose had stopped bleeding, but he still looked a mess. His hand was still covered in blood, and he didn't want to look like some murderer who just happened to walk in. He pressed upon the top of the bell with his single clean hand after a moment of hesitation.

The bell rang clearly, and soon enough the sound of footsteps was heard. The person making said sounds moved so quickly Arthur could see the dust flying off the stairs with the force of the movement. He managed to not sneeze, because he was afraid that some of the blood would stain the floor and papers. When the person reached the bottom of the stairs, Arthur craned his neck to catch a glimpse of him or her. What he was met with, he wasn't prepared for at all.

It was a rather short woman, with a sharp chin and a slim body. Her skin was pale, as was reminiscent of those who lived in England for the most of their lives, but other than that she didn't really have any assets to show off or flaunt. And flaunt she didn't. Her body was covered by a dress, a pastel blue dress with a sort of apron on the front. It was completely white, and looked like it had been worn lovingly for ages. The same could be said of the dress behind it. Her leather brown boots hid everything her skirt couldn't, and Arthur was almost sure that her face would be hidden under layers and layers of clothing. It wasn't, but her face almost made Arthur step back. Her face was almost exactly like his, with the same narrowed green eyes, high nose and small cheeks. The hair framing her face fell to where her thin neck began, and it was the same hue of yellow as Arthur's messy hair. Her straight strands were tied up into two long ponytails that fell to below her chest, and they were almost as messed up as the hair that grew upon Arthur's head. A small sailor's cap topped her head. Arthur was almost instantly reminded of the hat his younger brother Peter always wore.

Her expression was scrunched up, and she looked rather unhappy to see him. Arthur gulped. Her hands were on her hips and she looked as though she were ready to kick him out of the shop, but that all changed as soon as she saw him. Her face lit up instead, and she smiled gently.

"Hello, love." she started. She held out a gloved hand awkwardly, which Arthur took with his clean hand. "Alice... M. Jones. What about you, dear?" He cleared his throat and replied in a nervous manner which he hoped she wouldn't find impolite. "Um, Arthur M. Kirkland, miss. I... I'm looking for a wand?" At his last words her grin grew wider, but it suddenly fell. He started to panic until she grabbed his bloody hand and began inspecting it. She sighed. "What's this? Oh, you must have tripped on the front step... This happens often. I apologise, we bought the shop like this, and we wanted to have it removed because I just knew that people would fall over it. I've been trying to get the local renovation center to get rid of it, but they wouldn't listen. Oh, dear me..." She babbled. Arthur was getting overwhelmed by all of her words. "I'm terribly sorry. I'll go get a tissue, if that's alright with you. I'll help you clean up?" He nodded slowly, and she hurried off before he could even question her use of we in her explanation. He waited patiently as she walked up and down the stairs frantically in search of tissue. She found a box of them on the first step, and ran over to Arthur. She started to gently dab his blood-covered nose with the tissue, and Arthur found himself leaning into the touch. _If I had a mother, and I had a nosebleed, she might have done it like this, _Arthur thought happily. _I hope she would have. If she didn't then if she was alive, I would have had a sad life indeed..._

Soon enough Alice was finished, and she threw the tissue into the air, where it disappeared to god knows where. She held Arthur's chin and gazed upon his face, looking for any remaining traces of blood before releasing it and wiping her hands on her apron. She slapped them one last time before placing them upon her hips again and looking at Arthur. She smirked.

"Better? Should be, your face was dripping red! I'm surprised I didn't notice until now. You look a lot like my son. He's a dear. Oh, and none of this miss or ma'am business. Just call me Alice, love." Arthur blinked. To him Alice looked barely like a teenager, but she already had a child, so Arthur realised that she must have been older than she seemed. She had no wrinkles upon her face, so she must have been a sort of baby-faced type of person. Arthur knew how it felt to be one, because his whole family used to tease him about looking younger than he really was. He just retorted by saying that he'd look forty when everybody else looked eighty.

"I... I see, ma- ...Alice. Um... Can I take a look at the wands?" Alice seemed blank for a moment before putting up a finger in realisation. She muttered a small "Aha!" before taking Arthur's wrist and bringing him to on of the cabinets below the bookshelves. As she rifled through the drawers Arthur looked curiously at the books above the drawers. He asked Alice something that had been on his mind for quite some time.

"Alice?" She looked up at him. "Why are there so many books here?" Alice snorted.

"Actually, this place is a bookshop too, but I love reading all these books so much that I glare at customers so they would be terrified and not buy the book anyway. I'm a rather avid reader, love. It's in my nature." She continued to look through the drawers, opening one after another with increased haste. After several minutes of mindless chit-chat and talking, she finally pulled out a box. It was velvet purple, covered in the velvet with care and precision. It seemed to be made of wood, and when Alice opened the box Arthur saw that the inside was full of the same velvet cloth. Alice unfolded the cloth and shook something out of the folds.

Something made of wood landed in her arms. It was strangely twisted wood, that ended in a smoother, pointed tip, and the handle was black. Alice handed the wand to Arthur, and he took it from her, running his hands up and down the polished wood. He turned to Alice.

"So, how do I use this?" Arthur frowned. "Not to be rude or anything, but-"

"It's all right, love." Alice put her hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eyes. "They'll teach you that in Hogwarts. Now, why don't you give that wand a flick?" Arthur flicked it as gently as he could.

And found that the ground was closer to his face.

* * *

He screamed.

* * *

"Calm down now, love, you're just a cat..."

After Alice turned him back, Arthur got used to being a human again. Alice gave him the wand, and Arthur went to stand next to the counter waiting to pay. When Alice saw him standing there, looking lost as to what to do, she ran behind the counter, grabbed another box with a rose engraved upon it and put the wand down gently on the velvet folds within it. She snapped it shut and handed it to Arthur. He thanked her softly and held out a single, pure gold coin from his parents' bank vault. She looked surprised.

"Ah, no, that's not needed here. What I take as payment..." Her face looked startlingly enthusiastic. "-is a story, my dear."

Arthur stared at his feet. A story? Of what kind? What should he tell her? Nothing good had come out of his life, and no interesting events had happened in the time he'd lived. Alice sensed his hesitation.

"You could tell me anything." Arthur instantly spilled whatever words he knew, making a story right then and there.

"Well... um... Once upon a time, uh, there was a fairy, a rose fairy, called Scarlet. He was the most fearsome fairy in the land, killing and plundering from ignorant humans. He would bathe in their blood and soon attracted the attention of the Fairy Queen. Scarlet and the Fairy Queen hated each other with a burning passion, and were at each other's necks the entire time. While fighting, they came across a small fairy child. Scarlet and the Queen, sensing this as an opportunity to prove themselves, asked the child who he would pick as a brother. Scarlet thought of this as an already losing battle because he knew that no child would pick him, for he was ugly, a monster deformed by its own actions. But the child chose him, and it was then that he knew that this child was the only thing that could save him from himself. He would still go on his pillaging and murdering trips, but he would always return back to his home, to bring back murdered children's toys for the child to play with. One day, the child met the Fairy Queen. She told him of what Scarlet did while he was away, and the child was horrified. How could his dear older brother do what the Queen said he did? The child lost complete trust in Scarlet and ran away with the Fairy Queen. They confronted one another on the battlefield, weapons pointed at each other. Scarlet couldn't kill him. Which older brother could? He couldn't treat his beloved brother the way he did with all the human children. So the child won his independence, and Scarlet was left with his own lies and betrayals. It is said that Scarlet is still alone, after years of waiting for his little brother to come back home."

Alice clapped her hands. "That was an amazing story, and well-deserving of this here wand. Take it, it's yours now." Arthur slowly picked the box up and rested it against his chest, his two arms cradling it gently. He smiled, and thanked Alice, walking out of the shop in a hurry.

* * *

Alice climbed up the stairs, to the upper floor above the small, cramped shop. She opened the old door that creaked which led to her bedroom, a dreary place with grey wall and dust everywhere. She didn't actually sleep there, but the room housed some of her most prized possessions. A cracked frame was on the floor, the front of it facing the ground. Alice picked it up with a sigh. She ran her hands over the tarnished glass, wiping away dust, and in her mind, memories. She stared at the picture that grinned back at her. It was a girl, a girl with honey blonde locks and a smile that could light up the darkest of nights. Her fringe was clipped to the side, and you could see the faint hint of a tan. Alice felt a single tear drop, as she sat there in the room, alone, with only the picture to keep her company. With nobody else. She cradled the photo, holding it against her heart.

"Amelia, my love... My child is back."

* * *

_I apologise if you expected Alfredo san in this chapter. I ABSOLUTELY PROMISE that he will be in the next. If I manage to update. Which I might not._

_noir_


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